


The Mole

by areyoukiddingme



Series: Victor Zsasz/Random Ofc's [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Blow Jobs, Cutting, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Masochism, Minor Character Death, Sadism, Self-Harm, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 05:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoukiddingme/pseuds/areyoukiddingme
Summary: I watched in nervous tension as he pulled out the listening device that I had planted under the men’s table.“This yours?”My heart jumped into my throat and I fought to keep my features impassive.“No. What is it?”~A woman gets caught spying on a mobster by none other than Victor Zsasz. Their lives are now inextricably joined and she finds she can't escape the hitman. Not that she particularly wants to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe that Gotham is officially over! This is kind of a 'parting shot' fic, even though my obsession with Zsasz has not nearly ridden it's course yet and is most definitely _not _the last thing I'll write about him. Enjoy!__

A small group of men huddled over a table, discussing business over their glasses of scotch. I discreetly adjusted my earpiece as I wiped down the bar and my eyes went to where I had planted the bug. As per my uncle's instructions, I had tucked it underneath the table and securely taped it to the underside where it couldn't be found. 

The restaurant was empty save for the one table in the corner consisting of my boss and his business associates, who I occasionally brought more drinks to. The wire was feeding their conversation into my ear in real time and I struggled to keep up with my discreet note taking. My uncle was very particular on what I had to write and I made sure to only jot down information that would interest him. The steady hum of their conversation cut off and my heart leapt into my throat. My gaze shot upwards, but to my relief I didn't see them examining the underside of the table. Instead, all of their eyes were locked on the door. I followed their gazes, only to see a vague masculine figure through the frosted glass. The figure shifted, the silhouette now revealing an almost cartoonish outline of a gun.

“Shit.” I heard against my ear.

Then the door got kicked in.

The men at the table stood and started to protest, drawing their guns from their jackets. I ducked behind the bar as the first shot sounded. There were shouts, several more shots and then… silence. I strained my ears for any noise at all, footsteps, guns cocking, breathing even. Nothing. The earpiece was feeding me nothing but white noise. Then it screeched and I yanked the thing out of my ear. The small bud bounced along the tile floor before eventually rolling to a stop.

Rubber soles squeaked towards the noise and I realised with horror that I hadn’t heard the shooter leave. My breathing was far too loud and I clamped my hand over my mouth. I could hear footsteps approaching the bar, getting closer and closer before stopping at the counter. My heart was hammering in my chest and I felt dizzy at how slowly I was forcing myself to breathe.

For a fraction of a second I thought I had got away with it. Then I felt a hand curl into the back of my shirt, wrenching me onto my feet. I was faced with an intimidating man. The first thing that struck me was his dark, intense eyes. The second thing I noticed was the gun in his right hand, pointed directly at my head.

“Don’t shoot me.” I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m just a waitress.”

He thought for a moment, and in that moment I took the time to study his face. He was bald with no eyebrows and, upon closer inspection, no eyelashes either. Interesting. He didn’t lower his firearm, but did release the back of my shirt as he reached into his suit. I watched in nervous tension as he pulled out the listening device that I had planted under the men’s table.

“This yours?”

My heart jumped into my throat and I fought to keep my features impassive.

“No. What is it?” I asked, feigning innocence.

Perhaps it should be noted that my acting was mediocre at best. The only reason I ever acted was in order to not lose my job; I'd pretend to be chipper at the end of a long shift when there's a group of drunken customers refusing to move, even as the clock ticked further and further from the place's closing time. I could smile when some asshole tells me that I made his drink wrong, something that I've been doing for years, act like I didn't want to smash the glass in his face and go home. But all of this only meant that I knew how to pretend to be nice. I didn't know how to look innocent when I'd been caught red handed with a bug, faced with a man that had just killed a table full of people without hesitation. 

The man's eyes narrowed as he put the device back into his pocket. I may have just gotten away with it.

“I really don’t have time for this.” He said tersely.

His gun was still pointed at my head, and I kept a keen eye on his trigger finger as he looked between me and the exit. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, my head swimming with things I wish I'd done before I was gunned down in some shabby restaurant. Finally, he lifted his gun from my head and I felt my body flood with relief. My legs went wobbly beneath me and I had to reach back to steady myself against the counter. The man turned from me and started walking towards the door.

“Follow me.” He ordered over his shoulder.

The demand didn't quite sink in until he was at the door, propping it open with his foot. He looked back to me with those intense eyes and his words finally sunk in. I rushed after him, my legs still slightly uncertain beneath me as I followed him out of the door. I only glanced back at the dead bodies once. I could see my boss among the corpses, his eyes wide open and unblinking. I guess I wasn't getting payed this week. 

The man held his gun close to his chest as he crossed the pavement, leading me to a sleek black car which he slipped inside. I could hear my mother's voice shrill in my ears; _don’t get into strangers cars_. This was definitely an exception, I thought to myself as I followed him inside. Plus, it was a _nice_ car. Sitting in that plush interior, I had a distressing realisation. He'd killed all of those people and owned such an expensive car; this man was a hitman. My stomach turned as he pushed the accelerator and we sped off into the streets of Gotham.

It was a tense, silent car ride. I didn't dare to look over at him, but I could see his hand work the handbrake from the corner of my eye. His fingers were long and thin and his skin was especially pale. Even from where I was sitting I could see the spidery strokes of his veins snaking up the back of his hands, over the harsh ridges of his tendons, the lines softening as they dipped into his wrist. The cuff of his expensive suit cut off abruptly at his wrist, the black fabric cutting across his pale skin. 

I tore my eyes away from examining his hands as the car slowed. We were in a part of town that I was unfamiliar with, but I was familiar with the place we pulled up beside. The Iceberg Lounge. It was one of those places that I'd always been meaning to go to, but just never got round to it. I'd heard that it was constantly under new management, making the price of drinks unpredictable. That was enough in and of itself to put me off from going. Now I wished that I had visited before just so I would know what to expect.

The man exited the car wordlessly and I hurried after him. As I crossed around the front of the car I subtly checked the cars emblem. Cadillac. Of course.

Inside the club was dark, even in the mid-afternoon sun. I had to half-jog to keep up with the man's long strides as he made his way confidently through the bar and into a door which led to the rest of the club. It was obviously a classy place. The walls were dark and dotted with ridiculously sized pot plants and decorative tables, making the already narrow hallway seem almost claustrophobic. I trailed behind the hitman, my eyes running over the back of his dark suit. His collar sat high on his neck, the only parts of his body exposed his head and hands. He was so clothed it almost made me wonder what he was hiding under all of that fabric.

 He shouldered his way through one of the many doors that lined the hallway and gestured for me to follow him. Through the doorway was a room filled to the brim with weaponry, guns lining the walls and drawers sitting beneath the racks, presumably stuffed with more weapons and ammunition. He opened one of the drawers and rooted around, beckoning me closer without even looking at me. When I was close enough he grabbed my wrist and, before I knew what he was doing, I was handcuffed. I felt a burst of shock; I had never been handcuffed before. He secured the other side of the handcuffs to one of the exposed pipes running up the wall. I yanked at my wrist as he turned from me, letting the metal rattle against the pipe.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked him cautiously as he rifled through another one of the drawers.

"I have to be somewhere." He said disinterestedly. "I’ll deal with you later."

_Deal with me._ I didn’t like that expression.

 My head snapped up as someone else burst through the door. I looked up and felt like rubbing my eyes. I had seen his face so many times on television screens, plastered on newspapers and posters; Penguin. So he owned the Iceberg Lounge now? Gotham was a strange place.

Penguin hobbled further into the room and did a double-take.

“Who’s she?” He asked the hitman harshly, jabbing his thumb at me.

“Loose end.” The man shrugged.

“So what? You’re just going to leave her here?” Penguin asked, plucking a gun from the array hooked on the wall.

“I’ll deal with her when I get back.”

There it was again. _Deal with her._ Penguin unbuttoned his jacket and slid the gun into a concealed pocket. He buttoned his jacket back up and smoothed a hand over it, trying to conceal the firearm as much as possible.

“You’d better.” Penguin said, tugging at his cuff. “Because if I find a half-starved woman in my armoury in a couple of days time, I won’t be very happy Victor.”

“Sure boss.”

The man who I presumed to be Victor finished reloading his guns and stood.

“Ready?” Penguin asked.

Victor nodded and followed him to the doorway. He looked back at me, his eyes flicking up and down my restrained body, lips twisting into a smirk before closing the door behind him. The moment they were out of the room, I felt in my hair for a bobby pin. I had taken a self-defence class once, but it had been years ago. The exact details on how to escape from handcuffs were blurry. All I could remember for sure is that in order to break yourself free, you had to make them tighter.

Crossing my handcuffed fingers, I jammed the bobby pin into the mechanism. I took a deep breath before pulling back the bobby pin, and the metal arm along with it. I felt dizzy with relief as the handcuff slipped from my wrist and rattled down the metal pipe onto the floor. Gingerly, I rubbed at my wrist. The handcuff had briefly cut off my circulation, and I thanked my lucky stars that I had done it correctly or Victor may have returned to a woman without a hand.

I crossed the room on silent feet, opening the door hesitantly. All I saw was an empty corridor. Extremely carefully, I closed the door behind me and began to wander back the way I had come. It was surprisingly easy to find my way back to the main lounge. I was astonished to find the place empty, no-one behind the bar, in the booths or even up in the balcony. The stale smell of a club in the light of day permeated the air.

Now I had to make a decision, to stay or to flee. I looked longingly to the door, but then thought from my captors perspective. He comes back to find empty handcuffs and me gone, what's the first thing he does? Hunts me down and doesn't ask questions before killing me, like he killed those men in the restaurant. No. My intention was to stay here in plain sight, easy to find so when he returned he could get whatever he wanted from me, whether that was answers or simply silence on my part. Then he might not kill me. Or, if he did, he would do it quickly.

I looked the place over, leisurely making my way across the polished floor. I had nothing to fear other than some bartender telling me off, which was definitely very low on my list of worries right now. Everything was black and shiny, from the polished floors to the padded booths. If I didn't know Penguin any better, I would think that he had a serious leather fetish. The ceiling was decorated with cute little umbrellas and I was so busy looking at them I almost ran into the large ice sculpture at the centre of the room. Jumping back from the exhibit, I eyed it curiously. I had heard that there was something weird in the ice, but I always made a conscious effort to avoid the tabloids. I could never have imagined that it would be a person.

Encased inside the ice was a man dressed in a green suit, his hand outstretched and a definite look of shock on his face. I wondered what the art meant. The fruitlessness of trying to reach your goals? A metaphor for the cold embrace of death? Or perhaps simply the importance of dressing well because you never know when a moment in your life may get immortalised...

I sighed, giving up on trying to interpret the art of rich people with too much money. Instead, I made my way to the bar. No waitstaff had appeared yet, so I dodged behind the barrier and fixed myself a drink. If I was going to die today, then this may be my last drink on earth. And if not, well, I’d rather be drunk while being tortured than sober. I was three drinks in when someone slipped onto the stool beside me. I saw the delicate hands on the bar and almost fell off of my stool. Looking to my right, I saw the man, Victor, on the stool beside me. There was a spot of something red and suspicious high on his cheekbone which made my throat constrict.

“Can you get me one?” He asked huskily.

I went behind the counter again and fetched another glass, pouring him a drink. I watched from across the bar as he pulled up his left sleeve, exposing a section of the skin that he had so carefully hidden away. And I understood what he was hiding.

His forearm was covered in what I initially thought to be scratches. Upon closer inspection, I saw that they were too uniform to simply be scratches. I realised that they were tallies. Tiny rows of four, the fifth scratched through, lines etched permanently into his skin to count... god knows what. His drink was forgotten as I watched him pull a box cutter from his waistcoat. He brought it to one of the as yet unfinished tallies, pressing the sharp edge into his skin until blood welled up around the blade. I found myself transfixed at the sight of him marking himself permanently with the knife. I tore my eyes away from the blood to look at his face. It was impassive; he wasn't wincing or flinching, seemingly possessing an impressive detachment to his own pain.

Then he looked up.

I quickly averted my eyes, remembering the drink I had poured for him. I slid it across the bar and he caught it, slugging it back as I made my way around the counter to his side.

“How did you get out of the handcuffs?” He asked as if the drink had jogged his memory.

“I took a self-defence class once.”

“Why didn’t you run?” He asked, taking another swig of his drink.

"You would've hunted me down."

He tipped his head to the side, as if lost in thought.

"Maybe."

"And killed me?"

At this, he merely smirked.

"Not if you had told me what I wanted to know." He reached into his pocket and dumped my listening device onto the bar. “You’re a mole, aren’t you?”

Maybe he hadn’t believed me earlier. I blushed and looked to the floor, fiddling with my empty glass.

“ _Aren’t you_?” He asked in a firmer tone and I stumbled for an answer.

“Yeah, b-but it’s not-”

“Who for?” He asked harshly, cutting off my stuttering.

“My uncle.”

I answered his questions quickly, trying not to upset him.

"He must really hate you." Zsasz said, shaking his head.

"Why do you say that?" I asked him defensively.

"Because if those men had found what I found," he said, pointing at the listening device. "Then you'd be chopped up into little pieces right now."

I chewed my lip. I had known that the men were dangerous, that they were in with the mob. What I hadn't considered was the very real consequences that might come with spying on them. As I mused this, the man at my side stood and I heard the jangling of keys.

"Where do you live?"

"I'm not giving you my address." I said bluntly.

“Relax, I’m not going to stalk you.” He shook his hand dismissively at me. “I’m just going to give you a lift home.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

I wondered whether this was just a tactic to intimidate me as he swung his keys idly on one finger. Hesitantly, I stood and he grabbed me roughly by the forearm, turning me towards the door. We left the lounge, returning to his car which was still parked where he had left it. It was miraculous really, that such an expensive car could be left on a sidewalk in such a dodgy area. Maybe everyone knew who this car belonged to and stayed well away.

Once I was inside the car, he stared at me until I reluctantly told him my address. I expected him to ask for further instructions, so was surprised when he jammed the key in the ignition and turned off in the right direction. He knew Gotham quite well, it seemed.

“Did you think I’d hurt you?”

I looked over at him, trying to tell whether he was mocking me. I found nothing in his expression so I nodded, only to realise that his eyes were fixed on the road and I had to vocalise my assent.

“Yes.” 

“What did you think I was going to do to you?”

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

“And why would you think that?”

Now he definitely was taunting me.

“You called me a loose end. You said you’d _deal with me_ , whatever the hell that means.” I said, my temper rising.

“How did you think I’d do it?”

The question caught me off guard. For a moment, I thought that I didn't have an answer for him. Then I cast my mind back to my time alone, sitting at that bar and realised that I had genuinely given it a lot of thought. _Of course_ I'd contemplated how he was going to kill me. Some feeble way for my mind to anticipate an unpredictable future. A way to prepare for something that, ultimately, was never going to happen.

"I thought you would shoot me." I responded shortly.

"Boring." The man huffed and I felt a strange swell of indignation.

"What were you expecting?" I snapped.

"More details." He said, his eyes flicking briefly over to my own.

He didn't push any further. But as I picked at the hem of my skirt, I felt determined to prove him wrong. I was _not_ boring.

"Fine." I said, my mouth suddenly feeling very dry. "I thought that you would get angry at me for escaping from the handcuffs. You'd force me onto my knees, making me look up at you while you pulled your gun out."

His hands flexed over the steering wheel, but he didn't interrupt me.

"You'd hold it to my temple and ask me if I had any final words."

I swallowed, realising abruptly that the next part of my fantasy didn't exactly involve me getting a bullet in my brain. It involved something that would explain my dry mouth and the blush rapidly creeping up my neck. I glanced over at him to see his eyes still fixed on the road, much to my relief. I wrapped up the story quickly so he didn't have time to question why it didn't have a proper ending.

"That's how I imagined you would do it."

It looked for a moment like he was going to say something before he shook his head minutely, as if dismissing his own thought. Instead, his lips quirked up into a distant smile as the silence between us stretched.

"Better." He said eventually.

I sank slightly into my seat. I had been so determined to convince him that I wasn't boring, but now I could see what a pointless venture that was. All it did was leave him mildly unimpressed and me more than a little embarrassed.

“Which is your place?”

I had been so focused on willing my blush away that I hadn’t even noticed we were on my street.

“You can drop me off here.” I said, sitting up in my chair.

“Which building?”

His voice was low and dangerous and I sank back into my chair. It had been so exciting to see the familiarity of home that I had briefly forgotten who I was sharing a car with.

“The one with the red door. Just up there.” I said, gesturing.

We pulled up outside my apartment block. I put my hand on the handle but before I could get any further the man put his hand on my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

"I hope you've been telling me the truth." He said in a earnest voice. "Because if you haven't, I will track you down and I will kill you."

I swallowed, my eyes fixed on the pale hand on my wrist.

"Noted." I said, trying to make light of the very obvious threat to my life.

He tugged at my sleeve, forcing my gaze back to his. There was an idle grin on his face, one that was predatory and shark-like. It made my heart hammer in my chest.

"I promise I'd do it the way you imagined." He assured me softly. Then he winked.

To see the man do something as normal and flirty as wink disturbed me more than his smile. I fumbled for the handle, nodding curtly before escaping from the car and the stifling atmosphere he had created inside of it. Trotting up to my door, I didn't even bother to look back at  at the car and the terrifying man inside. I fished my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door of my apartment, rushing up the stairs to the safety of my room.

* * *

In retrospect, I shouldn't have given him my real address. Nor should I have turned the lights on in my apartment before checking that his car was gone. I fucked up.

I had been lectured on all of this shit, and yet when the time came I had still made stupid mistakes. It was down to fear, I told myself, which was only partly true. I tended to behave like a bumbling idiot around people I found attractive, the way I had acted only reminding me of the fact. After a sufficient amount of time had passed, I decided to find out who the man was. The nervous butterflies I got every time I thought of him had quietened, allowing me to get past the search bar on my computer. I didn't have much to go on, other than his name was Victor and was, presumably, a prolific assassin in Gotham's underworld. I typed in 'assassins in Gotham', only to find that there was a whole website dedicated to the topic. I wondered who it was for, people looking to hire an assassin or looking to avoid one.

I scrolled through the unfamiliar faces before halting suddenly. The photo was blurry and clearly taken from a distance, but it was unmistakably him. The caption next to his photo called him 'Victor Zsasz'. I clicked through, only to find that there wasn't much written about him. All it said was that he was currently working for Penguin, which I already knew. I closed the tab before I had a chance to delve any further. I sat back in my chair, running my hands over my face. This needed to stop now. Having crushes on hitmen was definitely unhealthy, not to mention dangerous. I resolved to never think of him again, and leave it at that.

You can probably tell how long that lasted.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later and I was busy scrubbing down another bar. My life hadn’t got any better since my boss had died and I had been kidnapped by an attractive hitman.

When I had first walked into my uncle's place after the incident, he hugged me with such relief that I almost believed him. But Zsasz had opened my eyes to the danger that he had willingly been putting me in and I realised that the relief didn't come from me being alive. It came from not having to explain to my mother that I had died carrying out his orders. He gave me a job at his own restaurant, presumably as compensation for almost dying while on the job. It wasn't exactly a promotion, but at least I was still getting paid. 

As I cleaned, there was a commotion outside the door. I continued unflinchingly, fights not uncommon in this part of Gotham, even before any of the bars had opened. But then the door got kicked in. I stopped, looking up worriedly; it was Zsasz.

“Seriously?” He asked, his eyes wide in disbelief.

I threw my cloth onto the bar, staring back at him with the same incredulity. Gunshots sounded outside the door and he stalked forward.

“Get down.” 

I did as he said, crouching as bullets ricocheted off the wall behind me. He ran the last few feet and vaulted over the bar, crashing down next to me. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asked me angrily as he landed.

“I could ask the same about you.” 

More gunshots. He reached into his holster and picked out another gun, forcing it into my hands.

“Cover me.”

He stood and skirted around the bar. I didn't have time to tell him that I'd never held a gun before.

“What the _fuck!_ ” I called after him.

I peered over the counter, watching him cross the floor with his gun outstretched before him. Someone shouldered their way through the door and I balanced the gun on the counter, instinctively aiming it at the newcomer. They weren't looking at me, however, their eyes were focused solely on Victor. The two men began to circle one another dangerously, both daring the other to make the first move.

As I pointed that gun, I knew that there was no way in hell I'd be able to hit him. But there was a way to break this stalemate. I pointed the gun at the wall, squeezing my eyes shut as I pulled the trigger. There was more kickback than I expected, my wrist jerking back uncomfortably as the gun fired. My eyes flung open and I looked over to see the man searching the room for the unseen person who had fired the gun. In that second of abstraction, Zsasz shot his own gun and the man fell to the floor like a dead weight.

Zsasz looked to me, his features unreadable as he nodded at me. I assumed that was praise coming from him, and I felt a surge of pride swelling in my chest as he went to check the door for more perpetrators. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked again, less angrily now that the threat had been eliminated.

"This is my uncle's place." I responded.

"Your..." Zsasz trailed off, looking confused. "The uncle that made you spy on your boss?"

I nodded, slightly impressed that he had remembered. It had been two weeks, after all.

"That's not going to make this easy." Zsasz said, almost to himself. 

"What's happened?" I asked him agitatedly.

"He's made some dodgy deals."

I handed the gun back to him. He took it and holstered it underneath his arm.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Where is he?" Zsasz asked, ignoring my question.

He looked as tightly coiled as a spring, his weight balanced on the balls on his feet and hand flexing restlessly against his gun. The fact that he hadn't answered my question made me uneasy. Zsasz had already killed one man without hesitation, what would he do to my uncle?

"I'm not going to hurt him." Zsasz assured me, seeing me hesitate. "I just need to take him back to Penguin."

"Penguin kills people too." I ventured. 

"We'll just talk."

Zsasz lifted his hands, as if showing a simple act of submission was enough to mollify me. ' _Just talk_ ' held the same connotations as  _'deal with her'_ , but I suppose that hadn't ended gruesomely. I chewed my lip, looking into his eyes to try and tell whether he was lying to me. He steadfastly kept my gaze, not shying away or breaking eye-contact, and for some reason I ended up trusting him.

Beckoning him to follow me, I led him to the door beside the bar and unlocked it. As I did so, I could feel Zsasz's heavy presence behind me, watching my every move, checking that I wasn't misleading him or trying to hide something. My trust in him faltered; it made it difficult to trust him when he didn't trust me.

I led him through the corridors behind the restaurant, stopping outside my uncles office where I knocked. No response. I frowned, knocking again.

"He should be in here." I told Zsasz as I pushed the door open.

The room was empty. Papers were scattered across the table, a pen lying uselessly on top of them as if they'd been abandoned in a hurry. I turned back to Zsasz, concerned that he might think I had led him to an empty room purposefully. I found him too preoccupied to accuse me of anything, busy scanning the room methodically with those dark eyes. Once he had finished looking the room over, he approached me, getting far too close. The buttons on his waistcoat were inches from my face as I struggled to look up at him.

"Does he have a panic room?" He asked me in an undertone.

"I don't think so."

Then again, there were a lot of things I didn't know about my uncle. Zsasz's thoughts seemed to follow my own as in one fluid movement, he grabbed my shoulder and whipped me around. His arm wrapped around my neck, pinning me flush against his body. I fought against him, but he was strong and he had a height advantage which I just couldn't compete with. 

"I know you're here." He taunted the empty room. 

He pointed his gun at my temple and my breathing picked up. I knew that it was wrong, to get turned on by the man who was threatening my life. There was just something about the feeling of his broad chest against my back, the crook of his elbow tightening against my neck as his breath tickled my ear.

"Your little niece is very pretty." He muttered, his voice sending shivers down my spine. "I would hate to see her get hurt."

Nothing. In the oppressive silence of the room, Zsasz pulled the safety from his gun. The cocking sound made me flinch and my heart dropped; maybe I should've fought harder. I was about to open my mouth and suggest that maybe my uncle _didn't_ have a panic room when one of the bookshelves slid open before us. The safety clicked back on his gun and he released my neck. I distanced myself from the comfort of his chest, watching as my uncle emerged from the gap the bookshelf had left. His arms were raised in surrender.

"So you do care." Zsasz said scathingly. "I thought you'd let her die."

My uncle looked stunned. He looked between me and Zsasz, trying to figure out our relationship. Clearly, he hadn't heard about me being abducted after the shooting, but I wasn't about to regale him with the encounter in such a tense situation. So I gave him nothing, merely crossing my arms and averting my eyes.

"She's my niece, of course I care about her." My uncle said gruffly, his arms still above his head.

"My boss needs to talk to you." 

My uncle opened his mouth like he was going to object, but Zsasz held up his hand, cutting him off before he'd even started.

"You know what you've done."

My uncle sighed, nodding his head. He let Zsasz take his shoulder and lead him out of the room. I touched Zsasz's wrist before he crossed the threshold, his hand dropping from my uncle's shoulder as he paused, letting my uncle walk ahead. 

"Promise me you won't kill him." I pleaded, my fingertips ghosting over his hand.

He nodded solemnly and I believed him. I didn't know whether it was stupidity or naivety, but I believed him. My fingers left his hand and he turned from me. I saw him catch up with my uncle, watching them as they walked out of the door, leaving me alone.

* * *

I opened the restaurant up as usual. It's what my uncle would want, I told myself. I pushed away the niggling voice in my head that said he was probably already dead, and so wouldn't care either way. The other half of my shift arrived, but I sent them away. There wasn't much point in making more people work if the person who wrote their paycheck was no longer with us. I wanted to believe Zsasz, believe that my uncle was still alive, but as time dragged on I was forced to think more realistically. Penguin wasn't known for his patience, and there was no way that Zsasz could disobey him if he wanted my uncle dead. The only thing I could do was sit and wait.

Luckily, the night was quiet and I was able to keep up with orders by myself. By the end of the night, only one person lingered. A sad old man sitting over a whiskey, occasionally glancing over at me and the frantic way I cleaned as a way of coping with my anxiety. Eventually I had to chuck him out. He looked at me unhappily, but saw my tired eyes and slumped shoulders and didn't fight me on it.

Once he was gone, I locked up and slumped into a booth with a drink of my own. I waited well past midnight, the clock ticking on the wall not doing anything for my frazzled nerves. Shortly after three there was a feeble knock at the door. I got up so quickly I would've upturned the table if it weren't nailed to the floor. Unlocking the door and wrenching it open, I saw my uncle. He was a little worse for wear; his eye was purple and swollen, and there was blood smeared on his cheek but I wasn't sure where it had come from.

He pushed past me and I glanced out of the doorway to see Zsasz across the street. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to see him leaning against the back car in his dark suit. He nodded at me when I noticed him, his eyes shining as he slipped back into his car. I closed the door and returned to my uncle. I tucked him into one of the beds upstairs before going back to my apartment and flopping onto my own bed, exhausted.

* * *

My uncle send word out the next day that he wasn't opening the restaurant, which gave me some much needed time off after a hectic couple of days. I had to consciously restrain myself from searching for Zsasz on my laptop just to see his face again. I was unhealthily obsessed, every thought I had tainted by him and his handsome face.

My intercom rang, tearing me away from the show I was watching. I unravelled myself from my nest of blankets, padding over and buzzing whoever it was in. Most of the time it was people who had forgotten their keys or the postman and I let them in without asking nowadays. Which is why it was odd when a few moments later there was a knock at my door. I untangled myself from my sheets again, cautiously making my way to the door. I had already buzzed in the person so I couldn't pretend that I wasn't home, no matter how much I wanted to. I kept the door chain on and opened the door as far as it would go. Through the crack, I could see the dark eyes that had been haunting my fantasies since I had first seen them.

"Are you here to kill me?" I asked immediately, almost without thinking. 

I was tense, ready to slam the door and bolt in an instant if he acted untoward in any way. Zsasz simply rolled his eyes, adjusting himself against the doorframe.

"No. I'm a little beat up, can you let me in?"

I closed the door, taking a few deep breaths as I undid the door chain. It felt like I had Beetlejuiced him into existence and I wasn't sure if this was real. I had had a lot to drink last night, maybe I was hallucinating.

"Why did you come here?" I asked through the wood.

"I was in the neighbourhood."

I was still concerned that this might be an elaborate ruse to get me alone in my apartment in order to kill me. But when I opened the door fully I noticed him clutching his upper arm. Blood was seeping through his fingers.

"Shit." I said, ushering him inside. "What happened?"

"Some guy lunged at me. I shot him, but not before he nicked me."

I raised my eyebrows when he called his wound a 'nick'. Getting closer, I pulled at one of his fingers and he released his tight grip on his arm, letting me assess the damage. All I could see, however, was a mess of blood and mangled clothing.

"I got lucky though." He said as he pressed his hand to the wound again. "He _was_ aiming for my face."

"That is lucky."

 _It would be a shame to mark that pretty face_ , I added internally. His lips twisted into a wry smile and I immediately worried, unreasonably, that he had read my mind. I stood, avoiding his eyes as my statement simply hung in the air.

"The folks opposite are always prepared for this sort of thing, do you mind if I get some stuff?" I asked, breaking the heavy pause.

He nodded without hesitation and I hurried off to my neighbors. One of them ran to get the first aid kit while the other tried to return to my apartment with me. I had to stop her forcefully; I was already pushing it leaving the apartment, I doubted Victor would appreciate me bringing a stranger to him. He came across as the type who didn't trust easily, and also to shoot first and ask questions later. A dangerous combination. Besides, when I said 'friend' they were probably imagining someone like me, not a man in an expensive suit with guns holstered under his arms. Instead, she explained to me slowly and clearly how to patch up a knife wound while the other returned with the first aid kit. I thanked them both profusely and returned to my apartment to see Zsasz inspecting the photos on my mantelpiece. He didn't seem to mind bleeding heavily from his arm.

"Got the first aid kit." I announced, directing his attention back to me.

"Kit? That's a fucking mobile ER." He sneered, gesturing at the thing I was holding.

It was a bit overkill. The thing was already starting to weigh down my arm and I had only walked across the corridor.

"You're lucky I have anything." I retorted defensively. "I don't exactly get stabbed on a daily basis."

I dragged out a chair from under the dining table and gestured at it. 

"Will you sit?"

He did as I asked, his hand was still pressed tightly to his wound. He was keeping pressure on it, which was the first step according to my neighbor. I had a feeling that he knew how to deal with injuries, which only added to the question as to why he had come to me. 

"Can I see?" I asked gingerly, gesturing at his arm.

I was expecting him to roll up his sleeve. It took me by surprise when instead he reached for the buttons on his waistcoat, slinging the discarded garment on the back of the chair. Then his hands went to the buttons on his shirt and I struggled to keep my breathing even. Maybe I was hallucinating. There was no way that Victor Zsasz was stripping in my apartment.

He pulled the shirt from his body, exposing the pale skin of his torso. I saw the scars on his arms again, the small tallies that were now encroaching his elbow, higher than when I'd seen them last. As he hung the shirt on the back of the chair, I admired his slender torso which was rippling with muscles. My eyes traveled lower, following the sharp angle of his hip as it delved into the waistband of his trousers. As he turned back I tore my eyes away from his torso, instead trying to keep my eyes on his wound.

I cleaned haphazardly around the cut, which was deep but clean. It was still weeping blood so I took the rag and pressed it to the wound, carrying on the work that Zsasz had started. As I compressed his arm to try and stop the bleeding, I tried to keep myself from staring at the exposed skin. He didn't seem to notice, but I still tried to restrain myself out of politeness.

"I don't see any photos of your uncle." He said, nodding at the photos. 

"Yeah. Our relationship isn't really like that." I shrugged. "It's strictly professional." 

"He's a piece of shit." Zsasz told me as if I didn't already know that myself. "Why do you work for him?"

"My brothers are all doctors and lawyers and someone has to be in the family business."

I had never really said it out loud. Now that I had, it made me realise that I'd never really been given a choice. My older brothers were so intelligent and conscientious, given opportunities never offered to me. I had been too young to know whether it was sexism or just me, being generally lesser than my siblings

"Your family business should be in the ground the way your uncle runs things."

"We take pride in our restaurant, thank you very much." I said defensively, but I only half meant it.

"Your front, you mean?" Zsasz teased me, grinning idly.

"Hey, it's a damn good front." I retorted, looking down at the blood stained rag. "You should come in for a drink sometime."

"I will." Zsasz said in an unexpectedly earnest voice and I found my heart racing at the promise.

I pulled the rag away to see that the wound had stopped bleeding. I prepped some warm water and soap, as per my neighbours instructions, and returned to Zsasz's side. As I touched the cut with the soapy rag, I saw Zsasz flinch for the first time. In that split second, he was vulnerable, and I found myself completely and utterly falling for him. My head started reeling and it felt like I was plummeting. It wasn't just lust any more. Now it was something more, something scary and overwhelming, especially as he was half-naked in my home.

Trying to loose myself in the task, I ignored my itching fingers that wanted nothing more than to feel his skin, the ridges of his scars, the angles of his bones. I wanted nothing more than to get up on the chair and straddle him, grind my hips against his until he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Then I would press my lips against his, feeling dizzy and euphoric as the room went foggy, misted with desire and longing as I dragged my fingertips over his chest...

I settled for a simple mumbled apology as I continued cleaning the wound. I only let myself touch the parts of his body that were injured, sealing the incision with butterfly stitches. It was deep enough that I worried he might need proper stitches, but from the amount of scars on his body, self-inflicted or otherwise, he clearly knew a lot more than me about patching up wounds. I finished up, wrapping his upper arm with gauze. It was a rough job, but I'd never sealed a knife wound before. I let him wash up his blood stained hands before taking the washbowl and dirty rag to the sink. When I returned, Zsasz had the box cutter in his hand and was searching for the most recent set of tallies on his arm. My head started to spin at the sight, wheeling so fast that I lost control of my tongue.

"Can I do it?"

Zsasz looked up at me, his eyes wide and curious. Tentatively, he held out the box cutter to me. My hand was shaking with adrenaline as I took the knife and knelt next to him. I took his wrist in my hand and he wordlessly pointed out the unfinished tally. The next cut would be the third, one narrow line just below the crook of his elbow. I positioned the blade and Zsasz adjusted my hand so the line would be at the correct angle. He was precise when it came to cutting himself, apparently. His flesh gave way beneath the blade and it felt like I had a sudden, gut-wrenching case of vertigo.

"You're going to have to go deeper than that if you want it to scar."

I heard his voice over my rushing heart but I didn't comprehend his words. He covered my hand with his own and pushed. I felt the blade splitting his skin, pushing deeper and deeper, making me feel slightly queasy. I had to relinquish the box cutter back to him, merely watching as he finished the tally mark.

"There's two types of people in this world." Zsasz started, watching the blood bead on his skin. "You either hurt people or you want to be hurt."

"I don't think I can hurt people." I ventured, the feeling of his skin giving way beneath my hand making me shudder.

"Then you want to be hurt."

I was going to contest him, say that maybe there was a third type of person who didn't want anything to do with hurting or being hurt, but then he extended his hand and put his finger beneath my chin. My breath left my body and I forgot to say anything. He pinned me I place with his eyes and for a dizzying second I thought he was going to kiss me. My heart thundered in my ears and my eyes were focused entirely on his. But then his finger dropped from my chin and my hopes with it. I spoke quickly, trying to take my mind off of my disappointment.

"Which one are you?" I asked, trying not to sound as breathless as I was.

"What do you think?"

"I-it's hard to tell." I stammered. "You _do_ have a lot of scars."

I looked to his torso and he followed my gaze, eyes running along the thin white lines that marred his chest. 

"Those are accidents. These-" He said, drawing my attention back to his tallied arm. "I have to do."

I left it at that. Now wasn't the time to delve into his weird compulsion and no doubt the mental disorders that came with it. He stood abruptly and I followed him, not wishing to be kneeling at his feet. I watched as he threw on his shirt and started buttoning it up, cursing the tear in the fabric.

"Thanks for patching me up." He said as he fastened his waistcoat.

"Anytime."

It was a throwaway statement, but I honestly meant it. I would endure any amount of blood and gore if it meant I could see Zsasz shirtless again.

I followed him to my front door, sharing a meaningful look with him as I struggled for something to say. I wasn't sure, etiquette-wise, what the parting words were after you'd tended to a man you found disturbingly attractive in your own home. As I scrambled for words, Zsasz turned to me and, without warning, pressed his lips against mine.

My eyes widened and I started backwards. He placed his hand on the back of my head, pulling me back to him before I had time to freak out. The blood rushing in my ears was so loud that I was sure Zsasz could hear and my lips were tingling. He pulled away far too soon, his addictive lips gone and the steady weight of his hand on the back of my head leaving suddenly. My mouth opened and closed like a fish as he softly brushed the back of his hand over my cheek. Then he was gone.

I felt catatonic with shock. Staring at the closed door, my heart was racing and mind no longer operating on rational thought. What I did know was that this definitely _wasn't_ a hallucination. And that Victor Zsasz, infamous hitman, was _intent_ on torturing me. Just not in the traditional sense.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, my uncle decided to reopen the restaurant and I was forced to return to normality after my surreal day off. As I prepped for the evening shift, I didn't run into my uncle, which was unusual. I had to assumed that he was avoiding me on purpose. I knew about Zsasz taking him, seen the aftermath of his 'meeting' with Penguin and had also hidden my encounter with Zsasz from him. I wouldn't want to see me either, the person who had got him caught and knew every detail of the whole messy affair.

I was setting out table mats when there was a knock on the frosted glass.

"We open at five." I called out. I was sorely tempted to tack 'asshole' onto the end of that statement.

"Can't you make an exception?"

I had become embarrassingly familiar with his voice, and even that made my heart skip. It wasn't a home visit this time, however, and I approached the door cautiously. I unlocked it but stood defensively in the doorway as it opened, blocking Zsasz's entry.

"You're not here for my uncle again, are you?"

"No, that's all cleared up."

He glanced up and down the street, always on his guard. I watched the tendons in his neck strain as he turned his head, admiring the pale skin which rose from underneath his black collar. Every single time, I forgot how breathtakingly hot he was until he was right in front of me again.

"Why are you here then?"

"I'm here for that drink you promised."

Satisfied, I backed up and let Zsasz in. As he passed me, I wondered what he was after. There was no way he would come all the way to my uncle's restaurant if he didn't want something from me, something more than just a free drink.

"We don't open until five." I informed his back as he walked to the bar.

"That's why I'm here."

My eyebrows furrowed; I didn't know what he meant by that. He sat on a stool as I lifted the partition, slipping behind the bar. He rested his hands on the counter and I was disappointed to find them gloved.

"How's your arm?" I asked as I fixed him a drink. The same drink I had made him back at the Iceberg Lounge, which now seemed like years ago.

"Healing." He lifted his arm above his head as if to prove his point. "You patched it up good."

 Since he had kissed me, our interactions had changed. Now our conversation was difficult, stilted. There was something between us, as real and as solid as the countertop separating us, but neither of us was willing to acknowledge it. As I had surmised earlier, Zsasz was intent on torturing me, and I was far too scared of rejection to do anything about it.

I _was_ able to address one thing though, something that had been troubling me since yesterday.

"You know, I thought when I gave you my address you promised not to stalk me."

I had intended for it to be a joke, but he looked up at me earnestly, his lips downturned.

"I'm not stalking you." He said grimly. "If I were, you wouldn't know about it."

"What is this then?" I asked, gesturing between us.

He fiddled with the glass in his hands, his eyes distant as he got lost in thought.

"This is a hobby." He answered eventually.

"Zsasz, tell me honestly." I matched his seriousness. "Are you going to kill me?"

He didn't answer. He merely stared at me and I found myself internally panicking. Why had I got myself so tangled up in him, why had I allowed for this to go so far if all he was going to do was kill me? Why had he picked _me_? I continued my questioning, desperately trying to crack the puzzle sitting before me.

"Why did you ask how I imagined you would kill me?"

"It's interesting to hear how fucked people think I am." He shrugged. "Some of them get close."

He didn't seem uncomfortable telling me that he murdered people, and enjoyed it. And, judging by the lack of waver in my voice, I didn't seem to be troubled either. I should be horrified by his words, but I found myself hypnotised instead.

"Do you always do it how they imagined?"

"Sometimes." He said, lifting his eyes to mine. "If I like them."

"You said you'd do it how I imagined." I said coyly, injecting a hint of naivety into my tone. "Does that mean you like me?"

Christ, it was like asking if he had a crush on me.

"I liked yours. Practical." He took a drink. "You don't need to pull someone's fingernails or break their ribs in order to kill them, you know?"

I swallowed. He was doing this deliberately to freak me out, to see whether I'd run.

"It could use some work." He continued when I didn't bolt. "The end, for example. It didn't have one."

My lips pursed and my heart thudded in my chest; I had hoped he wouldn't notice the distinct lack of an end to my fantasy. I was going to try and style it out, pretend that he was mistaken. By the time my thoughts had caught up, however, my tongue had already answered for me.

"That's because the end didn't exactly involve me getting a bullet in my brain."

I must be completely insane. He was grinning now, baring his teeth at me like a caged tiger. But instead of running or playing dead, I was sticking my finger through the bars.

"No? Then what did it involve?"

His voice was light, playful. I kept my eyes rooted to the counter, wishing that the ground would swallow me up. Zsasz was giving me his full, undivided attention, and for the first time in my life, I didn't want it.

"Let's act it out, shall we?"

I simply watched, mortified, as Zsasz vaulted over the counter. He had removed the obstacle between us and I was now at his mercy. He wrenched at my shoulders and I fell to the floor, landing painfully on my knees. There was no gentleness in his actions, no indication that he was holding back, and for a second I thought I'd made a mistake. My heart leapt into my throat as he pulled a gun from his holster, holding it to my temple. Maybe I wouldn't have to act.

"Where did you stop again?"

He lifted his gaze and I glared at the firearm in my peripheral vision; it was very uncomfortable when he looked away while having a gun trained on my head.

"Final words, wasn't it?" He said, his eyes brightening with recollection. "So, any final words?"

My words got caught in my throat, staring up at the assassin. I didn't even consider running, or telling him to stop. There was something euphoric about kneeling before the man, a gun against my head and yet have the assurance that he would never shoot me.

"I- I say that you can't kill me." I said, choosing my words carefully. "Then you ask, 'why not'?"

I struggled, the only sentences I could form sounding filthy and most certainly nothing I would say out loud, let alone to Victor Zsasz. He leaned down towards me as I hesitated, extending one of his gloved hands towards my neck. The leather squeaked as his hand tightened.

"Why not?" He prompted me.

I centred myself on the hand around my neck, ignoring my inner monologue as it screamed at me and said the first thing that came to mind.

"Because you- you haven't felt my mouth on you yet."

Zsasz's grip loosened and he slowly dropped his hand from my neck. I felt my face flush as he stared at me, his lips upturned. The air was heavy with expectation. His face was still close to mine and my eyes rolled over his lips before I reached for his trousers.

His hands lifted as I reached for the waistband of his trousers, eyes widening in surprise. He clearly hadn't expected this, and I drank up his bemusement. He didn't stop me as I pulled at the fastenings of his trousers, letting me shimmy them down his legs. Then I took the waistband of his underwear, looking up at him briefly to get his consent. His eyes were heavy with lust and I got the distinct impression that I didn't have to ask.

Pulling down his waistband, my eyes widened when I saw that he was already half-hard. Feeling his heavy gaze on me, I ran my tongue up the underside of his cock. The gun that had been pointed at my head clattered uselessly onto the floor beside me.

I ran my tongue over his length, my hand on the base of his dick as my tongue ran over the top of his cock, tasting his precum. Then I opened my mouth wide, taking a steadying breath before engulfing his cock. He made a noise above me, something between a gasp and a moan as I took him in my warm, wet mouth. It sent a shiver down my spine; he wasn't a very vocal man, so hearing him loose control was such a turn on. When I eventually got the courage to look up, all I could see was the pale extension of his neck, his head tilted back in relief. My hands went to his hips as I eagerly sucked his cock. I was consumed by my need to please him. I wanted him to think of me when he jacked off later, miss the feeling of my tongue on his member as he did so.

I knew he was close when his gloved hand twisted into my hair and he started pumping into me instead of letting me take control. He was looking down at me again, staring at the lips wrapped around his cock as his hips slammed forward. He pulled out, groaning as he came over my face, his cock twitching and head thrown back. His seed was sticky on my face, streaked over my lips, across my cheek, in my hair.

"Naughty girl." He muttered as he tucked himself back into his pants.

When he had fastened his trousers, he lowered himself to my level, crouching before me. He swiped the cum from my lips with his thumb, kissing me softly but passionately. I could taste salt on his tongue as it slid over my own.

"You're dangerous." He whispered as our lips parted. "You could bring any man to his knees."

I took a moment to notice Zsasz's position on his knees in front of me. Granted, I was kneeling too, but it was a vulnerable position for the man to be in nonetheless. I smiled minutely before swiping at my face with my cuff. As I did so, he raised himself from his knees and extended his hand to lift me from the floor. My knees had gone a little numb from being on the floor for so long and I was grateful that Zsasz lingered, his hand still on my own, while I tried to ease feeling back into them.

A knock at the door.

We both turned towards the noise. I looked to my watch, only to see that it was twenty past five.

"Shit." I said, cursing my inability to keep track of time. "You can sneak out the back, if you want."

He nodded, lifting the hand still holding mine and pressing his lips to my knuckles. My heart melted and I felt my knees going weak beneath me. He turned, glancing at me once before escaping out of the back door.

I hurried to the bathroom, checking over my appearance in the bathroom mirror before going to let in the customers. I rolled up my sleeves as I crossed the bar to hide my semen-stained cuffs. As I unlocked the door, I wondered whether they'd be able to tell I'd just had a cock in my mouth. 

*

My uncle called me in early the next day. When I arrived, I was surprised to find no other waitresses. I waited around in the bar for him as he usually didn't take staff meetings in his office. I glanced up when someone came through the door after me; Zsasz.

"Can't stay away?" I teased him.

"I'm not here for you this time." He said, smirking at me.

So he _had_ been after me the other day.  I smiled to myself, my heart swelling.

"Your uncle called me in."

"I thought that this was a staff meeting." I said, tipping my head to the side.

"Obviously not." Zsasz gestured to himself. "I'm not working for the scumbag any time soon."

"Don't call him that." 

"Alright. Asshole, then."

I snickered, shaking my head.

"I wonder what he wants from us?"

 Zsasz approached me, his hands settling on my waist. My heart sputtered as he leaned over me, lowering his face until his lips were level with my ear.

"Maybe he was watching."

His voice tickled the shell of my ear, making me shudder. I tried to push him off, the smell of gunmetal and his cologne overwhelming me. But he was immovable, his hands like vices on my waist and feet firmly rooted to the ground.

"Maybe he wants to tell off his little niece for being such a dirty girl."

I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks. His words were giving me a nervous paranoia, and between that and his low voice in my ear, I was starting to feel a soaring uneasiness in my stomach.

"Stop it." I squeaked, my pitch rising in my effort to control it.

"You don't want me to stop." He muttered. "I still have to get you back for yesterday."

Zsasz nudged his knee between my legs and my mouth fell open. I swallowed a whine, instead gripping his unharmed arm tightly. His hands went to my shoulders, keeping me upright as my legs weakened beneath me.

"All I could think about last night was you and that pretty little mouth of yours." He said, dragging his thumb over my lower lip. "I'm going to make you suffer like you made me."

"You don't need to do that." I said breathlessly. "You're already torturing me."

He gripped my chin roughly and my stomach dropped.

"You think this is torture?" He asked dismissively. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

A wry smile twisted his lips.

"You know what I'm going to do to you? I'm going to spread your legs and finger your tight little hole until you explode." He growled, leaning in close to my face. "Maybe if you're a good girl, you'll find out what my tongue can do."

It felt like my lungs were collapsing, I was struggling for breath and my hand clenched into a fist. His words were sending my mind to dark places, the images making me breathless. I was trembling like a leaf in his hands and I wondered how he had any self-control when someone was so clearly desperate for him. Then someone cleared their throat.

I turned to see my uncle's right hand man, watching us with condescension. I could feel my cheeks redden at being caught in such a compromising position and I quickly untangled myself from Zsasz. He did the same, though I could feel the slow reluctance of his movements.

"Hey." I said casually, waving my hand at the man.

"Your uncle will see you now."

I followed the man back to my uncle's office, but I batted Zsasz's hands off of me before we entered. I didn't want him to know about my affair with Zsasz because he most certainly wouldn't approve. And no matter how useless Zsasz thought he was, he was still in the mob with some dangerous connections that he could use if he thought his little, defenceless niece was in danger.

My uncle was waiting at his desk when we entered. His wounds had cleared up nicely and he looked up at the two of us in good spirits.

"Please, sit." 

We both sat. I could feel the weight Zsasz's intensity now that it wasn't directed at me and I was surprised that my uncle didn't buckle beneath it.

"You've been scheming behind my back, my dear." My uncle said conspiratorially.

I shifted in my chair nervously. My uncle was looking between me and Zsasz while I tried to hide the fact that I was hyperventilating. He was taking his time in continuing, presumably because he was finding whatever it was hard to say. 

"I overheard Zsasz arguing to save my life." My uncle admitted eventually. "I know that's not his own feelings, so I have you to thank."

My hammering heart slowed and I relaxed my posture slightly; he hadn't used that pet name in years. I glanced over at Zsasz, whose face was a mask of neutrality. I didn't know that he had actively done something to make sure that my uncle hadn't been killed and the revelation only made me fall harder. He hated the man, and yet he had still spared him. Because of me. 

"You saved my life. I think it's about time you had a share in the family business. A _decent_ share."

"Hey, where's my reward?" Zsasz asked flippantly and I kicked him under the table. I had waited so long for my uncle to give me this chance, I wasn't going to let him screw it up for me, no matter how much I owed him. 

"You." My uncle turned to him sourly. "I called you here to tell you that from now on, you and your _boss_ go through my niece when discussing my business."

Now I could see the connection; self-centred, as I expected. He was just trying not to get beaten up by making me his go-between. He knew that Zsasz was partial towards me and wouldn't beat me up as a way to get to him. To be perfectly honest, it was pretty clever. For my uncle, at least. 

Zsasz had made the same connection as me and looked like he was about to object, but I nudged his knee under the table. I didn't want to loose this. I was about to be given more responsibility and a higher pay grade. But, most importantly, I wasn't going to have to scrub down another fucking bar for the rest of my life. Zsasz closed his mouth and sat back in his chair, letting me have this.

"We'll discuss terms later. For now, you can have the night off. I've given someone else your shift."

"Thank you." I responded genuinely.

I stood and took his hand, kissing his knuckles. Zsasz stood too and followed me out of the room. The moment the door had closed behind us, Zsasz slammed me into the wall. His mouth was already on mine and his hands were pawing at my waist. I hammered at his chest, making him pull back.

"Stop. There are cameras everywhere." I hissed as he kissed the corner of my lips.

"I don't remember you complaining about that before." 

I felt my stomach drop; I wasn't sure where the cameras were in the bar but there had to be one pointing at the bar. A couple of hours of footage was going to have to disappear before anyone stumbled across it.

"Plus my uncle could walk out at any point." I continued, pushing at his shoulder. 

"Maybe he'll like it."

"Don't be disgusting." I snapped.

His hand slipped from my waist to my inner thigh and I found that I couldn't stay mad at him for long. 

"I'm serious, Zsasz."

Finally, he pulled back and the weight of his body was gone from my chest. I took his hand and pulled him through the corridors, leading him to the door where I had led my uncle when he had been beaten up. On the other side of the door, Victor took my arm and bodily dragged me over to the bed. He pushed my chest roughly and I fell backwards, bouncing slightly on the mattress. He flipped up my skirt and hooked down my underwear before I had a chance to protest, spreading my legs firmly.

The mattress dipped against his weight. He leaned over me, pushing the hair from my face while his other hand crept between my legs. I whimpered as he touched my sensitive clit, my hips snapping against his hand. His finger slipped inside me easily and I cried out. Zsasz silenced my mouth, kissing me fiercely, all tongue and teeth. His fingers still worked between my legs as he kissed me and I started seeing stars behind my eyelids. Another finger entered me and I rolled my hips. His finger hooked inside me and I arched up against him. Those hands that I had admired for so long fucking knew what they were doing.

"Fuck, Zsasz, I'm gonna cum."

He pumped harder and faster and I could feel the tension building between my legs, heat pooling in my belly. His dark eyes were watching me intently as he fingered me. My hands curled into the sheets as the pressure built inside me. I came suddenly and violently, rocking upwards as my stomach contracted and mouth falling open into a cry. He clamped his hand over my mouth, pushing me back against the bed as I shuddered against him.

"I warned you." He purred over me.

He brushed his hand over my face as my chest heaved and I recovered from such an intense orgasm. Zsasz made a move to get up but I gripped his arm, stopping him in his tracks. I opened my eyes to see him staring down at me intensely. His pupils were blown, almost consuming his irises.

"You can't go." I said breathlessly. "Not before I feel you inside me."

I didn't need to ask him twice. He pushed me further up the bed so my legs were no longer hanging off of the edge, his hand traveling down my front as he kissed me firmly. He undid my buttons and opened my shirt, splaying his hand over my breast. I ran my hand down his chest to grasp at the bulge straining against his pants. His shudder tore his lips from my own and I heard him groan in the back of his throat. He pinned my hand back, an expression as dark and harsh as anger flitting across his face. It wasn't anger though, despite being just as fierce. He helped me unbuckle his pants, pulling everything down until he had unleashed his member. He kissed me again, our tongues sliding together as he positioned himself at my entrance.

"You sure about this?"

His concern touched me. But I had never been so sure about anything in my life and I nodded quickly, gripping his arm tightly. His concerned face broke into an easy smile and he pushed into me. I cried out, my back arching off of the mattress. He let me adjust to his size, whining in the back of my throat as my fists clenched into the sheets beneath me. Then he bucked into me roughly, ripping cries from my body as he abused my overstimulated clit. As he pounded into me he kissed my neck, sucking on it hard enough to give me hickeys and I pulled him close. I could feel the pressure building again and I curled my fist into his shirt. I put the other to his lower back, feeling his hips snap into me. I contracted around him, making him come shortly after me.

He flopped onto his back next to me, breathing heavily. I caught my breath too, staring at the bland ceiling. Once my brain started functioning properly again, I realised that we were both still mostly clothed and I smiled to myself. 

"We should do it less desperately next time."

Zsasz's lips widened into a grin and he glanced over at me. 

"Couldn't help it."

He shifted closer to me, grinning idly as he kissed me. 

"Fucking hell Zsasz." I huffed. "You're so hot."

"Careful." He smirked, sitting upright and rubbing his neck. "I will go again."

He stood from the bed while I simply watched. I still felt boneless, I couldn't believe that he was even moving. I manoeuvred myself upright as he did up his pants, hunting around for my underwear. Pulling them on, he leaned over and kissed me, his lips lingering. I stood, tucking my shirt into my top and running my fingers through my hair.

"How do I look?"

"Like a hot mess."

I was unable to suppress my smile as I pulled the sheets on the bed to make it look like it had never been used.

"That's not what I meant." I said over my shoulder. "Could you tell I just fucked someone?"

"You asked the wrong person. I'm the one who fucked you."

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. My heart skipped as I felt his lips brush against my ear. 

"That doesn't help." I said bluntly, trying to hide my reaction to his proximity with impatience. 

I pushed his hands from my waist, making my way towards the door while he followed closely behind. We exited into the corridor, him trailing behind me just in case we happened across anyone on our way out. 

"I've been thinking about what you said. About hurting people and being hurt." I said over my shoulder. 

"Oh yeah?"

I stopped abruptly and he bumped into my back. I turned to him, taking his hands in my own. My fingertips ran over his pronounced knuckles as I apprehensively looked up into his eyes which were filled with concern. 

"I think I want you to hurt me."

His concern evaporated and his lips spread into an easy smile.

"That can be arranged." He mumbled.

He leaned down to kiss my temple, wrapping his arm possessively around my shoulder as we continued down the corridor.


End file.
